Past and Present
by Adarynn
Summary: That night, in the graveyard, Harry made a last desperate attempt to stop Voldemort from rising again. It backfired. The ritual worked too well, and a 16 year old Dark Lord has been released into the Wizarding World, anonymous behind his old name and free to have a second chance at world domination. Unless Harry can stop him of course.
1. The Graveyard

Harry felt the rough touch of the cold stone digging into his back. He was sure that the headstone he was tied to had the name 'Tom Riddle' inscribed onto it; he had glimpsed the name even in the dim moonlight in the moments before he had been tied up, but how was that possible? He had met Tom Riddle… Lord Voldemort, the man was still alive (in a fashion) and even were he not, it was hard to imagine that anyone would have wanted to give him a funeral let alone bury him with such an ornate and expensive headstone. Furthermore, Harry was sure that the repulsive humanoid creature that Wormtail had just dropped into the large cauldron bore the same name as the grave, equally as he was sure that he didn't want Voldemort to ever surface from the boiling potion.

His eyes were squeezed shut as tight as he could bear, desperate to block out the sight that Wormtail's agonized sobs confirmed waited before him. Indeed, Harry was so focused on blocking out the events unfolding in front of him, that he did not feel Wormtail approach until he felt the man's putrid breath upon his face.

 _"Blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will…. resurrect your foe."_

Harry snapped his eyes open to see the foul man raising a glinting silver dagger to his right arm, but he was tied so tightly that he could do nothing to prevent his blood being collected in the small vial that Wormtail clumsily procured from the depths of his robes.

The man lurched back towards the cauldron, and Harry's thoughts raced across his head as he searched frantically for a way to stop this from happening. In his desperation, he did the only thing he could and seized upon the words spoken by Wormtail, 'blood… forcibly taken." An idea flashed across his mind and with the few seconds left to him he attempted to subvert the wording of the incantation. Although he held little hope for its having any effect, Harry pushed aside all horror at the thought of the Dark Lord's return and gave his blood willingly. It was harder than clearing his mind for occlumency, but he fought hard to push away all memory of Voldemort's reign of terror, focusing on the idea of giving his lifeblood to Tom Riddle and pursuing the idea as avidly as he would a snitch racing just before his outstretched hand.

He was forced to watch helplessly as the blood was added to the bubbling cauldron , its contents instantly transforming to a white so blinding it cast all else into darkness. It bubbled and sparked merrily as Wormtail fell to the ground beside it, and agonizing moans floated across the graveyard as he clutched his bloody stump. Harry felt something within him stir, his magic binding him to the ritual just as his whole body exploded with pain.

Distantly, he registered tortured screams piercing the air around him, but was only vaguely aware that they were his lost as he was in the haze of pain. It felt like his body was trying to tear itself apart from the inside, as if his muscles were ripping themselves apart with the very effort of trying to stay together. Then, as quickly as it had started, it ended and Harry slumped in his bonds breathing heavily. He had failed, the cauldron was billowing out masses of white steam, within which a tall shadowy figure was rising. Harry tasted bile in his throat, sick with horror as he watched Wormtail pick up the bundle of robes and the smoky ghost take them from him before pulling them over its head.

The man stepped out of the cauldron, shrouded in shadows and obscured by steam he was barely distinguishable against the murky sky that framed him. Wormtail stepped back with apprehension on his waxy face, still clutching his mutilated arm close to his body. Voldemort paused looking intently at the pathetic man before reaching out to delicately take his left forearm and pressing against it with his other hand. Wormtail howled once more with pain but the Dark Lord ignored him, taking the wand that had killed Cedric from the floor before straightening to look directly at Harry for the first time.

Slowly, he stalked towards the bound boy on the headstone, cutting through the white steam settling around the cauldron in a wide swath that send little spirals in every direction. He was close before Harry could see him clearly, and shock ran like an electric current through every fibre of his being as his eyes identified a face he had never thought he would see again after the events of his second year. Tom Riddle stopped before him. A small part of Harry's mind noted that it was rather ridiculous that he identified the younger version of the man as Tom rather than Voldemort, but he had known the memory as Tom primarily, and this man was the mirror image; he didn't look like he'd aged even a day.

The teenage Dark Lord regarded Harry with the same cold and intelligent gaze that he remembered so vividly. Harry studied him, eyes touching on everything from the easy, arrogant way that he held himself to the familiar dark hair that was so much neater than his own. The young man's handsome face was unchanged but for the weary drawn cast it now held; apparently being reborn as one's sixteen year old self was not a relaxing experience.

"Who are you?"

Harry was struck dumb by the question, before a laugh exploded from his chest, scaring him slightly by how insane he sounded.

"What?" was all the reply his tired mind could muster.

"Excuse me," Riddle corrected abruptly. Harry merely looked at him blankly.

"The correct way to ask someone to repeat themselves would be 'excuse me', and I asked you what your name was, I suggest you do not make me ask a third time."

Harry bit back the crazy urge to laugh once more, since when did the terror of the wizarding world give him grammar lessons? Yet, apparently the Dark Lord truly did not remember his name, for there was no recognition in that intense scrutiny. Harry made his decision in an instant,

"Neville Longbottom," he replied, the alias he had used on the Knight Bus last year the first name that came into his mind.

Voldemort regarded him a moment further before his dark eyes turned icy,

"You're lying," he all but growled.

"No -," Harry began with slightly too much desperation in his voice. A cruel smile graced the face of the teenager before him, making him seem much older.

"That's alright," the Dark Lord cut across him, "we'll just do it the hard way."

Thankfully Harry was spared from finding out just exactly what the 'hard way' was when loud 'cracks' stared echoing across the silent graveyard as wizards began teleporting in and Voldemort turned to watch their arrival with curiosity penetrating his gaze.

Wizards in dark robes and horrific white masks were pouring into the graveyard, the foremost among them stalking straight towards the two teenagers with a menacing step.

"Well look what we have here boys," he called back to the others who drew closer with every passing second, Harry felt a chill run down his spine as he identified the voice as that on Macnair, the executioner that had been supposed to end the life of Buckbeak the hippogriff only a year ago.

"Harry Potter, and wrapped up like a Christmas present as well! Oh, and you've brought a friend as entertainment, how kind!" Even though the white mask obscured his face, Harry could clearly hear the perverse grin through the wicked glee that permeated his voice, "I'm sure you can keep us occupied while we wait for our master, boy…"

The young Dark Lord studied the approaching men with an inscrutable expression on his handsome face. Before he could make a move Macnair, clearly unaware that he faced the very master he was referring to, attacked;

"CRUCIO" he shouted confidently, anticipation evident in his stance.

Without so much as a hair stirring the young man before Harry sidestepped the curse, skilfully disarming the death eater as he moved. With his next breath Riddle sent a dark curse that Harry couldn't identify that left his opponent rolling on the cold ground, groaning in pain and gasping for breath.

The other Death Eaters abandoned their lazy approach, drawing their wands almost as one they slipped into a more defensive stance, slowly approaching the gravestone to which Harry was still bound.

"I am Lord Voldemort," Riddle's voice rang across the graveyard, echoing among the old bones with authority that Harry had never heard from anyone else, "I would not suggest you anger me, or you may just find yourself in a worse position than your friend there." The death eaters faltered in their approach.

"He lies," one of the masked men hissed from towards the back of the crowd.

"Our Lord would know us," a more authoritative voice drawled, this one Harry recognised as Lucius Malfoy, not even remotely surprised to see the man in such a company as this, "I believe you will rather regret impersonating the Dark Lord, boy, the penalty for such an offence is death… and a most slow and painful one at that." The Death Eaters laughed cruelly and began their advance once more.

The young man beside Harry apparently abandoned the hope of convincing them of his identity, recognising it as a lost cause. While keeping his wand on the advancing crowd, he glanced at Harry obviously evaluating whether he was likely to be of any use in a fight. Harry saw his one chance to escape the situation with his life, as much as he was loathe to take it with the young man it was attached to. The group of Death Eater's were getting close however and Harry had to take any possible course that might result in him still living at the end of the night.

"I know where there's a portkey," he said, meeting Riddle's gaze defiantly. The young Dark Lord made his decision almost instantly. With a sharp swipe of his wand and a quickly muttered incantation Harry was free of his bonds and falling heavily to the ground.

"Where?" The cultured voice demanded as a hand hauled him to a standing position beside the taller boy.

"This way," Harry shouted as he took off towards the spot where Cedric now lay, the cup having rolled not far away when his body had hit the floor. Harry tried his best not to look back at the crowd of Death Eaters pursuing the two of them as they weaved and dodged the spells sent after them, using the graves as cover when needed. The sky was illuminated by many-coloured sparks as spells with likely horrible effects burst as they hit the hard stone around them, often missing the two runners by mere inches. Harry was slightly surprised to discover that he was the faster of the two of them, despite his shorter stature, a distant part of his mind musing that all those evenings running from Dudley and his gang of thugs had definitely paid off.

He reached the area first, but, indicating the portkey to Riddle, veered right towards Cedric's body unable to leave it with the Death Eaters. Grabbing Cedric's wrist in one hand and his wand in the other he whirled around to where the cup had lain. He was too late, the older boy had already reached it. Harry's blood ran cold as he realised he was about to be left to face the Death Eaters alone, Cedric was too heavy to carry and even if he managed it there was no way he could get there before the Dark Lord was gone, along with Harry's only hope of salvation.

Harry's eyes met Riddles, illuminated by the flashing light of spells buzzing deadly across the graveyard. Then, much to Harry's astonishment, Riddle was sprinting across the few yards between them, the second he reached the younger boy, Harry felt the cold metal against his skin and a rough jerk behind his navel sending him spinning back towards safety. In Little Hangleton, the shouts of the death eaters rang across a now otherwise empty graveyard as they reached the spot the boys had stood only moments before.


	2. The Two Moodys

Harry hit the grass in the grounds of Hogwarts with a force that knocked the breath from his body and him face down on the floor. He was dimly aware that he was holding the cup in one hand and Cedric's dead body in the other, gripping each with equal force. He felt a hand slowly but firmly remove the cup from his grasp and forced himself to rise to his knees, only to see a crowd rushing towards him and a boy now kneeling next to him, studying the cup intently.

The air around Harry seemed to fuzz and blur as he looked at Riddle. Dark eyes met green, both sets glazed with exhaustion. Harry's mouth moved into a weak grin of its own accord and Riddle nodded back, a brief moment of respect for the part each had played in their narrow escape.

Shouts of "Harry's alive," and "Cedric's hurt" echoed across the empty space between them and the rapidly approaching crowd though Harry was barely aware of it, his mind rebelling against the stress of the day's events. It was only mere moments before the shouts turned to screams as people began to realise that Mr Diggory was not just merely hurt. Cries of horror surrounded them as the crowd enveloped the boys but all Harry could do was hold on to the body of his fellow student, the intention to return him to his parents the only thought that could permeate his tired and muddled brain.

The crowd parted like water as Dumbledore hurried forward, looking haggard and concerned as he hurried towards Harry, only to halt abruptly as the other boys came into view. The headmaster was obscured from sight as a large dark form reached Harry and stooped low beside him, his tired mind did not even have the strength or presence to identify the newcomer,

"It's over Potter, you can let him go now," a gruff voice spoke to the air just behind his left ear. Harry did not obey, refusing to let go of Cedric's wrist even when strong fingers grasped his fingers and gently but firmly attempted to remove them from the dead boy.

"Cedric's parents…" Harry's voice broke, "I have… to… to return him."

"Professor Sprout will deal with them, we need to get you to the hospit-" His companion's reply was abruptly cut off as Cedric's father hurried close enough to see the form lying in the grass,

"My son!" he howled into the sky pushing carelessly past those that stood in his way, "My boy…" his words lost form as his sobs began to push through, still Harry only allowed himself to be taken away from the body when the grieving man fell heavily onto the grass beside the corpse, crying uncontrollably as he held Cedric close.

The walk from the edge of the maze was a blur to Harry, it was only when the castle walls loomed high above him that his mind returned to the present enough to register what was happening. The clunk every second step told him that the arm still supporting him as it guided his steps belonged to Mad-Eye Moody. What little emotion Harry still managed to feel through the shock that numbed him became dedicated to mild surprise as he realised that they were not headed towards the hospital wing as the man had previously suggested, but towards his office. With the thought of the hospital wing he became aware of the pain in his leg once more and his sliced arm began to throb.

The door slammed shut behind them as Moody ushered Harry towards the hard wooden seat and all but pushed him down into it,

"Well Potter, what happened?" He asked with barely disguised eagerness threatening to break free, he looked as if he wanted to shake Harry in his impatience for an answer.

"Cup was a Portkey," He said, trying to organise his thoughts, "Took me and Cedric to a graveyard."

"Yes…" Moody encouraged him.

"Wormtail, he… he killed Cedric. Voldemort was there… had a cauldron, some sort of potion…"

"And then?"

"He's back, Voldemort's returned." Harry said, a sick feeling settling in his stomach as the words passed his lips.

"The Dark Lord has his body back?" Harry just nodded mutely, nausea rising. Moody stomped across the room and grabbed a bottle of something, thrusting it into Harry's hands, "Drink it," he ordered.

As soon as he had downed the contents of the bottle the pain of his wounds dulled and the fog in Harry's mind lifted somewhat, Moody's ruined features sharpening as the office came into focus.

"Harry, I need to know exactly, how did the Dark Lord return?"

Harry briefly described the potion, how his blood had been taken and how Voldemort had risen from the cauldron,

"And the Death Eaters," Moody cut across him, "did they return to him?"

Harry nodded, "And how did he treat them, did he… forgive them?"

There was a strange expression on Moody's face now, a mix of longing and hatred that Harry did not quite understand.

"They didn't recognise him, he looked young, they tried to torture him…" Moody's face darkened to a black rage, "Did he kill them?" he spat viciously.

"He duelled them, he cut me down and we ran for the Portkey… he landed beside me…" Suddenly Harry jumped up with the sudden realization, distraught that he hadn't thought to tell Dumbledore about the young man that had returned with him to Hogwarts. The danger Voldemort posed to the innocent people in the grounds didn't bear thinking about, and he couldn't be sure the headmaster had seen the young man in all the chaos.

"We have to go, we have to warn Dumbledore!" He shouted, but Moody stood between him and the door, a kind of reverence on his face.

"He's here? The Dark Lord is at Hogwarts?" He asked, breaking into a smile made hideous by his disfiguration. Suddenly his wand whipped forwards, emitting ropes that wrapped tightly around Harry, forcing him backwards and binding him to the chair.

"My master will be pleased indeed when I deliver his greatest enemy, you will die by his hand Harry Potter and he will favour me above all others."

Harry struggled fruitlessly finding himself bound and immobile for the second time in as many hours. He watched as Moody turned towards the door, only to be abruptly thrown back as it burst inwards, Dumbledore's pointed hat preceding him into the room. Moody hit the wall, head cracking back against the stone and body falling limply to the floor as he was immediately stunned by the headmaster.

It took Harry a few seconds to register the abrupt change in events. Dumbledore regarded the fallen man with cold fury etched into every facet of his face as Professors McGonagall and Snape followed him into the room. McGonagall regarded the scene before her, face white and lips drawn together before waving her wand to vanish the ropes around Harry. As they relaxed he slumped against the wall, watching Moody warily. The room was quiet as all three professors took the sight in.

"Severus," Dumbledore broke the heavy silence, "I believe we will be needing some of your Veritaserum. Minerva, I believe there is a large black dog waiting down in Hagrid's hut, please escort him to my office and apologise for my lateness."

Both Professor's turned to sweep out of the room, neither so much as raising a brow at their odd instructions. Harry paused a second before his mission of only moments before re-entered his mind.

"Professor?" Harry was pleased by how steady his voice was all things considered, "Tom Riddle- Voldemort… he came back with me. I didn't mean to bring him, but the death eaters attacked and I was tied up and-"

"Harry," Dumbledore cut off his torrent of words, turning kind eyes towards him. "It is perfectly understandable my dear boy, not your fault in the slightest. Indeed, I would much rather have the young man within my sights than running about the world, you did well." His voice was calm and light, meant to reassure.

"Where did he go?" Harry asked with trepidation, despite the Headmaster's words he still felt queasy at the thought he had brought the Wizarding world's most renowned murderer past the wards of a school full of innocents.

"As it happens, he fell unconscious no long after your arrival and was taken to the hospital wing, under secure guard of course. The crowd down by the maze of course saw nothing but an injured teenage boy appear next to you so we could hardly imprison him. The physical stress of what has happened appears to have weakened him, although I am not yet sure how to proceed when he wakes up." Dumbledore's face looked drawn and weary, shadows from the room's soft light highlighting the ridges and emphasizing his age.

"Incidently, Harry, it may be best for us to refer to him as Tom Riddle outside of this room. There are not many wizards still alive that would recognise that name and the world is not yet ready to know we currently house the reborn teenage version of Voldemort under this roof, it would cause a mass panic."

Harry nodded, "Moody… he said he was working with Voldemort, sir. How is that possible?"

"I think, Harry, that this is not Professor Moody," Dumbledore mused, "Indeed if I am not mistaken, and forgive my lack of modesty but I rarely am, then it is someone else entirely that has been teaching this year."

The Headmaster swept across the room to the large chest that Harry had seen earlier in the year, he fiddled with the opening mechanism for a few short seconds before giving a massive heave upwards lifting the heavy lid. Turning to Harry, he gestured to the boy to move forwards and have a look inside.

Harry stepped apprehensively towards the massive chest, when he saw its contents a gasp escaped him. He appeared to be looking into the skylight of a cramped and sparse room within which the unmistakable figure of Mad-Eye Moody lay slumped and unconscious against the wall. Harry looked incredulously between the two Moodys for a moment before he noticed that in addition to missing his wooden leg, the Moody in the chest also appeared to have lost several clumps of his hair.

"Polyjuice potion." Harry breathed as realization hit.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, a hint of pride in his expression.

"But sir, who is the imposter?" At that moment Snape returned to the room, small vial of clear liquid in hand.

"That Harry, is what we are about to find out." Dumbledore took the vial and crouched beside the man that was not Mad-Eye Moody, tipping a few drops into the man's open mouth before waving his wand.

The story that followed (interrupted at intervals but the loud sobbing of the elf Winky, who looked in even worse a state than when Harry had last seen her) was one so unlikely that it could only be believed due to how well it explained the mysterious happenings of the last year.

Harry was not given long to process the revelations however as it was not long later that he found himself sat in Dumbledore's office, once again explaining what had happened in the graveyard. As he talked Sirius stood behind him in his usual form and Harry was glad of his solid presence, drawing strength to tell his tale.

"He didn't recognise you?" Sirius interrupted his story, giving him a much needed minute to organise his thoughts.

"Perhaps you succeeded in altering the ritual," Dumbledore mused, long fingers forming a steeple in front of his half-moon glasses. "The Dark Lord's intent was to simply restore his body as it was when he lost his powers but I believe you may have caused it to work better than even Voldemort anticipated, you caused his body to return to the state it was in before he began to truly corrupt himself with dark magic. Perhaps his mind, and therefore his memory reverted to such a state as well."

"Voldemort before he was Voldemort," Sirius shuddered.

Harry ploughed his way through the rest of the story. When he was finished, the room sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry's leg throbbing with renewed pain as the potion that Moody- Crouch, had given him began to wane in its intensity. The Headmaster seemed to notice and, surfacing from his pool of thought, declared that it was time to finally go to see Madame Pomfrey.

Flanked by Dumbledore and Sirius (once again in dog form) Harry made his way to the Hospital wing, leaning slightly on the arm of the elderly Headmaster as his pain continued to grow back to the inferno it had been earlier. When they entered, they found a subdued looking group. Mrs Weasley, Bill, Ron and Hermione were sat morosely on the empty beds. As soon as they noticed Harry the group rushed forwards, Hermione hugging him more tightly than he would have preferred as it forced him to put further weight on his injury.

Dumbledore spoke, "As difficult as it may be, I would ask you to refrain from questioning Harry for the time being. He has been through a trying night and now more than anything he needs quiet and rest."

Harry felt an immense rush of affection for the old man as Madame Pomfrey took over and ushered him towards one of the beds. She waved her wand performing what Harry could only assume were wordless diagnostic spells before giving him a potion to drink, which he downed quickly. She looked distrustfully at Sirius the whole time but did not say anything, presumably Dumbledore had spoken to her before he left.

The Weasleys settled around the bed along with the dog. They were unusually quiet, even considering the death that had occurred. Indeed, Harry did not think that Mrs Weasley had spoken at all; very unusual for her. His exhausted mind eventually registered the bed with the curtains drawn around it. Dumbledore had said that Voldemort was in the hospital wing hadn't he? It felt strange that the man who had murdered his parents lay just a few beds down from Harry. Later, he found was not entirely sure when his musings on the thought turned to the blackness of dreamless sleep.

The fading light filtered through the windows of the Headmaster's office illuminating dust motes that danced and swirled with the air currents. Professor Dumbledore sat at his desk, slump in his posture betraying how tired he felt. Professor McGonagall sat across the desk in a comfy chair while Professor Snape stood leaning on the wall to the side. Both looked troubled.

"Well, Albus," Minerva asked, "What do we do with him, will he get his memory back?"

"I do not think so. The process of rebirth is traumatic and unpredictable, but I do not believe he will regain his memory unless by means of powerful magic. We must prevent this at all costs."

"There is only one certain way to prevent him from doing any harm in the future," Snape's face was dark but determined, "I will do it myself if I have to."

"We cannot. Hundreds of people saw him appear next to Harry after the task. Rumour is already rife that he and Harry escaped from dark forces, some people are saying Voldemort himself. All people will see is a brave teenager, he will likely be in the papers. People would notice if he just disappeared." Dumbledore's voice held just the tiniest bit of regret, imperceptible to all but those who knew him very well.

"We wait till he wakes," He continued, "then we can decide how best to proceed."


	3. The Hospital Wing

Tom Riddle lay still in his bed in the hospital wing. As far as he could tell it was late at night, possibly early hours of the morning. He both recognised his surroundings but also did not, like a familiar painting that had had a few subtle details changed. It was an incredibly strange sensation, but one he buried. His primary task at this point was to discover what exactly was going on here.

Ever logical, Tom thought over the little information he had gleaned. The last thing he remembered with normalcy was, to his perspective, the previous night. He had finally made a significant breakthrough in discovering more about his family. Following the origins of his middle name, Marvolo, he had traced a connection to the house of Gaunt, an ancient and noble wizarding family until one of its heads had squandered all the money leaving his descendants destitute. He had managed to locate the last known residence of the Gaunts, and had been planning to go to visit the house the next day in the hope that he would find another clue as to who his parents had been.

His next memory was appearing in that graveyard. He had not seen anything to indicate the location, or indeed the reason for his sudden presence there. His mind picked over each detail of the strange events. He had not recognised the boy tied to the headstone, although it was clear that he had expected him to. Then there were the Death Eaters. They had evidently been Death Eaters, but had not recognised him, tried to attack him even! They would pay for that dearly just as soon as he took control once again.

The biggest clues as to his predicament had arrived once they had returned to the Hogwarts grounds. Tom had seen the crowd, heard them shouting the names Harry and Cedric. From what he remembered it was most likely that the dead boy was Cedric, meaning that the other boy's name was Harry. Tom had also seen Dumbledore in the moments before the strain on his body had pulled him down into unconsciousness. The Dumbledore he had seen looked much different to the Dumbledore of recent memory, he looked older, much older. Tom himself though appeared not to have visibly aged at all. His mind ran through possibilities, each one more radical than the last. At present perhaps the most likely scenario was something to do with time travel. There had been some interesting things published about research on the topic being conducted in the Ministry's Department of Mysteries, but they were yet to develop anything that could actually transport a person through time.

The dim light from the high windows illuminated the back of the white curtain that surrounded him, throwing the silhouette of a sleeping lump a few beds down into sharp relief. Perhaps that was Harry? Quietly, he ghosted out of the bed and to the crack where the curtains met, he slipped through and padded towards the boy. Now he was closer, Tom could see that the boy was not sleeping as peacefully as he had first appeared. His limbs, soaked in sweat, twitched oddly and his face was twisted into a grimace. Tom rested against the bed next to the boy, contemplating him. Harry appeared to be a few years younger than him, stick thin and with a strange scar on his forehead; curse scar if he wasn't very much mistaken (and he never was). Without warning, the by ripped himself from the clutches of the nightmare. His body froze with the wariness of a caged lion as eyes green as the Avada Kedavra once again bored into Tom's own.

Harry's heart beat wildly in his chest as he was thrown from one nightmare straight into another. It took him a moment to distinguish dream from reality, while all the time those piercing eyes seemed to penetrate his own. The dim light gave the boy's face a sickly pale cast, and the deep darkness of the rest of the room seemed to narrow the world down to just him and Riddle. When he spoke, the Dark Lord's voice seemed too loud, almost obscene considering the late hour.

"So, Harry, I believe we have much to discuss." He sat himself on the bed opposite, the image of confidence and relaxation.

"So, you remember me then?" Harry replied cautiously, well aware of how much danger he was potentially in.

"Indeed. It doesn't do for a man to forget his enemies, it indicates weakness to those waiting to pounce."

Harry's mind raced. If Voldemort had regained his memories then why was he sat here chatting? Why hadn't he killed Harry as he slept defenceless? It was then that he realized that he couldn't see a wand, of course Dumbledore wouldn't have left such a dangerous man with a weapon, even one so you as Riddle was now! He shifted slightly and felt his own wand digging into the side of his leg, immensely grateful that he had been so tired that he had not even thought to take it out and put it on the bedside table. Slowly, he began to inch his hand towards his pocket. A flash of irritation crossed Voldemort's cold eyes.

"Really Harry? You're going to attack me here? You could do of course but I seriously doubt you're capable of killing me." His gaze contradicted his words. He studied Harry, evaluating as if he were interested to see if Harry were indeed capable of a decent attack.

"So, why exactly are we sat here having this nice little conversation? If neither of us is going to attack the other then why are we sat here? Usually you've tried to kill me at least twice by now." He was aware that he was beginning to sound cheeky but just couldn't bring himself to care, he was beginning to become just a little bit exasperated by Riddles apparent sense of drama.

"Usually? So we have met frequently then?"

"You don't remember!" Harry accused.

"No, I don't," Tom didn't seem bothered about having lied to his face, "Which is why we're having this 'nice little conversation' as you so aptly named it. I need information, starting I think with who you are and how you know me. Who are you, Harry?"

Harry resolutely kept his mouth shut, still glaring at the other.

"Oh come on now, you seemed perfectly willing to co-operate back in that graveyard," Tom flashed a winning smile.

"Only under threat of certain death." Harry was not quite able to stop the sentence from sounding sullen.

Riddle laughed a cold mirthless sound, "Think. If you know me as well as you seem to believe then you'll know that I'm not going to leave you alone just because you make this difficult. You know me, and not just Tom Riddle you've seen Lord Voldemort. I can hardly let you walk around spreading rumours about me can I? I will find out who you are, or I'll just remove you, your choice Harry." His voice was as dark as his expression, and Harry could suddenly see exactly how this young man had grown up to be a monster.

"So why did you save me?" He blurted out, "Why not leave me there to die, get rid of the eye witness?"

"You answer my question and I'll answer yours." Riddle's face was unreadable, and Harry figured it wouldn't be long before he found out anyway, he must be the only wizard in the country that didn't already know the name of Harry Potter.

"My name is Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter." His voice was defiant, though the young man would have no idea of the significance of his parent's names. The young Dark Lord gave no indication of what he was thinking but did not press for more, surprisingly the name seemed to be enough.

"I ran for you because I didn't know where we were going. Considering the nature of the meeting we escaped from I hardly thought it wise to appear unannounced in an unknown environment without someone to vouch for me." His eyes still studied Harry as if searching for something he couldn't quite find.

The room was starting to grow lighter as the sunrise spilled golden rays through the window. Faint sounds of movement began to travel the halls. Harry and Tom looked at each other, both realising it was later in the morning than they had assumed and it would not be long before Madame Pomfrey came to perform her customary morning check-ups. Riddle straightened before removing himself back to his curtained bed without another word. Sure enough it was only a few moments after he had disappeared from sight when the matronly nurse walked quietly into the room, she noticed Harry almost immediately.

"Ah, Mr Potter, bit early for you to be awake isn't it? How are you feeling today?" She began the same set of diagnostics spells she had used the day before.

"Tired," and it was true. Despite his few hours sleep Harry felt wearier than he had done in his entire life.

"Rest while you still can, I believe Dumbledore has permitted Cedric's parents to visit today," her voice told of her disapproval and sympathy. Harry felt as if someone was pouring cold water down his insides, grief and guilt vying in equal measure. He felt sick as he imagined coming face to face with Cedric's grieving parents only hours after he had told their son to take the cup that had ultimately led to his death.

When he returned to Gryffindor tower the next day, he was still tired. The last few days had been emotionally as well as physically exhausting and Harry was profoundly grateful to Dumbledore for telling the rest of the school not to question him, even if it meant that everyone gave him a wide berth and whispers followed him down the corridors. He had not seen Riddle again, although he Ron and Hermione had discussed him in depth. They had concluded that if he had regained his memories that there was no way Dumbledore would continue to keep him in a school full of innocent children, so they were probably safe for now.

Tom had kept quiet while Harry had his visitors. He heard the emotion, _the guilt_ , as Potter discussed the dead boy with his parents. Weak. By the sounds of it the boy had quite the hero complex. Harry Potter. Tom had recognised the last name, indeed there had been a Charlus Potter in Gryffindor in his time and this Harry was likely related in some way. In any case the house of Potter was an old and much respected one so the boy's birth would certainly be recorded in the wizarding genealogies. It would not take him long to figure out exactly who Harry Potter was, the boy intrigued him much more than he would care to admit.

Tom's conversation with Harry had certainly blown the theory of time travel out of the water. His older self was established in this time and place, even if he couldn't remember it. He had seen from the newspaper (a bushy haired visitor of Harry's had brought one with her and left it on the boy's bedside table) that the year was 1995, which put him at 68. Perhaps he had discovered a way to make himself younger in an attempt to lengthen his life. This thought was disturbing as it would suggest that he had failed in his quest to make himself immortal.

It was the evening after Harry had left with his friends that Dumbledore finally came to see him.

"Hello, Tom."

"I hear congratulations are in order, Headmaster now."

"I find it odd, to be congratulated on an appointment that happened almost forty years ago now, but thank you all the same. Madame Pomfrey tells me you are having some memory trouble."

"Yes sir," Tom kept his voice polite, Dumbledore had always been the one to see through his charm but that didn't mean it wasn't important to keep up appearances, "I assume my older self attempted to return my youth, and apparently succeeded although I doubt the amnesia was intended."

Dumbledore betrayed a flicker of surprise at his astuteness and regarded him in silence for a moment.

"Sir, if I may ask, when am I to be released? I feel physically fine and see no reason for you to continue to keep me here."

"And where would you go, Tom?"

"I have friends Professor, I'm sure it would not take me long to adjust."

"Friends that, I believe, did not recognise you two nights ago. Not to mention that as you are now technically underage you are compelled to have a legal guardian and be in some sort of magical education. As you have already admitted to being unable to remember anything past your fifth year I hardly think it would be appropriate to waive the rules and simply release you into the world."

That confirmed Tom's suspicions, whatever he had done with his life it was obvious that the old man was not going to let him just walk away. Indeed, he appeared to have come here with a desired outcome, one that, if he was correct, would see Tom return to Hogwarts next year. He decided to play along, his five years in the castle had been by no means enough for him to complete his plans and it would be a good base for him to interact with the younger members of the wizarding community which would help cement his hold on their parents.

"You would allow me to return to Hogwarts then?" Dumbledore looked satisfied.

"That's the best course as I see it, Tom. I'm sure the other sixth years will make you feel welcome-"

"Sixth year sir? But the OWL results under my name are more than 50 years old."

"We can arrange for you to re-take them in the summer if you wish."

"I'm sure the exam syllabus has changed somewhat since my fifth year Headmaster, I would feel much more confident if you would allow me to restart my fifth year. It would be a shame for me to miss out on the grades of which I am capable wouldn't you say sir?"

Dumbledore studied him for a moment, trying to work out his motivation for the request. It was mostly a desire for another year in the castle. A year to re-establish a network before he moved forwards with his plans. That, and Harry Potter. He couldn't deny that increased access to the boy had played a small part in his decision, Potter could prove very useful if he could be influenced in the right direction. After all an enemy was a disadvantage, and according to an old muggle saying, "If life gives you lemons, make lemonade." They may be an inferior species but it appeared they had got at least one thing right, a loyal follower was indeed much more useful than an enemy.


	4. Grimmauld Place

Harry could barely believe it. He was sat on the bed that was to be his for the rest of the summer in an old musty smelling house that apparently Sirius had grown up in. It was late, Ron shared the room but was already asleep in the bed by the opposite wall snoring loudly of course. He had only spent 2 weeks at the Dursleys house, a fact for which he was very grateful. He was almost thankful that the dementors had attacked, he didn't know how long Dumbledore would have made him stay at that hellish place if not. It had been a maddening few weeks of keeping to himself and avoiding the Dursleys, although they were at least so scared of Sirius that they had allowed him free movement in and out of the house – as long as he was back before Dudley of course.

Harry lay back in his bed, pulling the covers close around his neck and shuddering as he relieved the attack in his mind as he stared into the blackness. It made no sense for Dementors to have been in Little Whinging, and it seemed far too much of a coincidence that they had attacked him of all people. His first thought was that Voldemort had sent them, that he had regained his memories and escaped. Not that he would know, he thought bitterly, neither Ron, Hermione nor Sirius had given him any indication of what had happened to the young Dark Lord, despite his questions on the matter. Resentful thoughts swirled around Harry's head until at last he gave in to the weariness of his journey and surrendered to the darkness as sleep claimed him.

The next thing he knew Mrs Weasley was rapping on the door to the bedroom.

"Up, come on boys, breakfast's ready."

Ron groaned across the room from him, sitting up sleepily and looking blurrily across to Harry. His eyes widened when he realised what he was seeing,

"Blimey, Harry! When did you get here?"

Harry's voice held just a hint of ice as he answered, "Dunno, early hours of the morning."

Ron stood up. Even in the short time since Harry had last seen him it seemed that Ron had grown. Several inches of ankle showed as the lanky red head bounded across the room to the foot of Harry's bed.

"Well at least you're here now!" He said happily, "It's been a bit weird to have Hermione here but not you. This place is horrible isn't it? Can't believe Sirius used to live here, proper dark wizard's place you know?"

Harry grunted noncommittally, still avoid eye contact and trying to control his anger as Ron continued.

"Mind you I 'spose it's not surprising considering that horrid portrait, if I had that for a mother I'd have run away to." He shuddered, "Mind you Mum makes us spend most of our days cleaning so I might just consider it. Nearly half of the house is safe now though so you should be alright, but we've found some really weird things."

A knock came from the door, "Ron, get out of bed! Your mum says if you don't come down soon you'll miss breakfast."

"Hermione, come in, look who finally got here!"

Hermione's bushy head rounded the door to see a grinning Ron, then her eyes found Harry. Squealing, she rushed towards him and enveloped him in a hug.

"Oh Harry, I'm so glad you're here, we've got so much to tell you!" She pulled back, smile faltering as she registered the scowl on his face.

"Harry?" she said the name tentatively, "Are you ok?"

Something snapped inside as Harry met her eyes,

"Oh, so now you're concerned are you?" The sneer in his voice didn't sound like him at all, "Now you have things to tell me. You didn't think that might have been useful when I was stuck in a house full of muggles that hate me?"

"I – Harry, we -"

"Oh don't bother. I'll just continue lying in flower beds to get my information shall I?" The volume of Harry's voice was quickly rising as he let the anger out.

"What? Wait - flowerbeds?"

"Well how else am I supposed to get any information? Obviously I don't have friends willing to tell me anything!" Hermione's eyes were starting to glisten with tears and Ron looked horrified.

"We wanted to mate…" He tried to placate Harry.

"'Wanted to', what, someone had your hands tied? All it would have taken was a few stupid words. I've spent the last few weeks scavenging in dustbins for newspapers looking for any disasters in the world that might indicate that Voldemort had regained his memories and restarted his terror campaign. You must know something about what happened to him!" Harry's voice had an edge of hysteria as he finally voiced the worry and resentment that had been eating at him, "Considering I'm the first one he'll kill I think I have a right to know to!"

The room went dead silent for a moment. Unexpectedly the sound that broke the silence did not come from Harry's stunned best friends.

"I'd rather hope I had greater priorities than a teenage boy." The smooth voice that Harry new all too well drifted across the room. Harry's head whipped up to find Tom Riddle stood in the doorway, face expressionless. The young man's eyes swept over him, picking out each detail to the point that Harry felt exposed.

"Anyway, if you're quite done shouting you might want to go to eat?" Riddle paused a moment, still giving him that evaluative stare before he swept away down the landing.

"He's here?" Harry rounded on Ron and Hermione face flushing with embarrassment.

"We tried to tell you but you wouldn't stop shouting!" Hermione looked exasperated, "And for your information we couldn't warn you over the summer because Dumbledore made us swear not to put anything about Riddle in a letter. He said that the Death Eaters will have realised who he is by now and are probably trying to find him."

Harry saw the sense in her words, as much as he didn't want to admit it. Still red-faced he mumbled an apology and followed Ron and Hermione as they went downstairs towards the kitchen, treating him as if her were a bomb likely to explode. The house didn't look much less creepy in the light of day than it had in the pitch black last night and he had no trouble believing that this was the ancestral home of 'the most noble and ancient house of Black'. He was soon distracted however by the smells emanating from behind the door that led to the kitchen. It was only as they drew closer that Harry realised exactly how hungry he was, his stomach protesting violently against the fact that he had not eaten the night before.

Unfortunately, he was prevented from correcting this oversight as when he entered the kitchen, there were many exclamations of surprise followed by hugs and hand shaking. He caught Sirius' eye over the shoulder of Mrs Weasley and saw him wink, grinning. Sirius himself had met Harry when he arrived in the early hours and, once he had managed to distract himself from the tangle of limbs that was the Weasley family, Harry went over to sit by him grabbing food as he went.

"So," Sirius leaned over speaking quietly, "you told them about the dementors attack."

Harry looked at him blankly before realising what he was referring to, "Ah, no not yet, didn't think first thing in the morning was the best time."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, "So what was the shouting about then?"

Harry felt a red wave creep up to cover his face, before he realised that Ron and Hermione hadn't been the only ones to keep information from him.

"The lack of letters that actually told me anything important." His voice sounded accusatory. Sirius understood instantly.

"I'm sorry Harry, I know what it's like to be kept isolated," His face had darkened and Harry immediately felt bad for saying anything. Before he could apologise however, Remus Lupin walked down the table towards them. He slumped down next to Sirius and began to talk quietly to him so that Harry couldn't hear, but gave him a little wave. Lupin had been in the team that had taken Harry from his Aunt and Uncle's the night before and had greeted him properly then. The only other member of the team that had stayed over in the house was a young auror named Tonks, whom Harry had seen leaving (presumably for work) as he went down the stairs for breakfast.

While Sirius and Remus talked, Harry turned his attention to Fred and George who were levitating pieces of cutlery with their wands and having mock battles with them. Harry smiled and cheered along with the others, for a moment forgetting his embarrassment and anger and just enjoying having his friends back.

It was much later in the day when Harry finally got some time to himself. He had not seen Riddle again since that moment before breakfast but the young man had certainly not been far from his mind. Apparently the others didn't see him much. Hermione had said that he studied during the days, that Lupin was helping him acclimatise to a world 50 years after his last memory. Harry wondered if his friend was aware of the true nature of the young man that he was tutoring, or indeed if Riddle was aware of the true nature of his tutor.

Harry himself had spent the large majority of the day on cleaning duty. Mrs Weasley had taken personal offense to the lack of habitable rooms according to Sirius and consequently she had drafted anyone that didn't have much to do into her army and promptly begun waging war. So it was that Harry's muscles ached having spent the day wrestling with dark objects that did not want to be removed from their proper places. His neck was especially sore due to a particularly ugly old maroon bedspread that had decided to strangle him when they had tried to remove it for Mrs Weasley to clean.

Slowly, he drifted through the dark corridors of the derelict house. His mind, now away from the others, had strayed towards his ministry hearing. What would happen if they decided to expel him? Well, Sirius had offered him a home once, surely he would be able to live with him if they snapped his wand. There was a tall dark door looming ominously above him, considering living with Sirius would mean he would probably live here he wasn't sure that was a good thing. Harry grasped the bronze handle, feeling the cold metal keenly in the unheated passage. He felt lost, fear filling him as he imagined a return to muggle life.

A moment passed with him stood there, hand on the handle as time suspended around him. Suddenly Harry's mind caught up with him, remembering his Gryffindor determination. One thing was for certain, he thought as he firmly turned the handle and entered the room, he would not let them take his wand away. If they tried, he would not go quietly.

The room he had entered was a library. Shelves with books of every shape size and colour lined the walls, masking any windows that might have hidden behind. Consequently ornate gilded torches lined the place casting deep shadows across the deep carpet, stretching from the legs of the opulent furniture; 5 plush reading chairs surrounding an intricately carved table for books. Harry's eyes caught a dusting of dark hair above the back of the closest chair, the one that faced away from him. Slowly he stepped forwards revealing Tom Riddle smiling pleasantly.

"Harry Potter, how nice of you to join me." He lounged easily, indicating the chair to his left, "Please, sit. I've done a lot of reading since we last met, and I've been waiting all summer for the opportunity for us to have a proper conversation now I'm more up to date."


	5. The Library

Harry regarded the young man in front of him. Riddle appeared relaxed but his eyes betrayed a hardness that suggested that unpleasant things would happen if he tried to refuse. As much as Harry had experience with undesirable situations he strangely felt no desire to try and escape. The Dark Lord fascinated him, he seemed almost normal but then sometimes Harry still caught flashes of the maniac that he had encountered those few times in his relatively short life.

He lowered himself into the comfortable high backed chair that Riddle had indicated and tried to give off the same aura of relaxedness that the other projected so easily, he did however brush the handle of his wand with the tips of his fingers for reassurance. He didn't say anything, merely enjoyed the feeling of his tenseness releasing as his tired muscles relaxed against the soft material of the chair, and waited for Riddle to break the charged silence. After a short period of regarding the ceiling, the other eventually spoke softly.

"It is an incredibly strange feeling to awake to find that 50 years has passed without your knowledge, to find that everyone you knew has moved forwards in their lives or indeed, in many cases, died. You must adapt to a world that is not your own, start again despite the fact that you never truly left."

Harry continued to listen silently, this was not how he had expected the conversation to go. Riddle's eyes turned sharply to meet Harry's, soft voice gaining an edge as he spoke directly to him.

"Of course that adaptation is made easier by investigating the main events of the interval, keeping up with the news as some might say. Unfortunately recent events appear to be knowledge which our dear teachers seem incredibly reluctant to impart. This library," he swept his hand elegantly to indicate the expanse of the room, "has been almost invaluable to my learning and indeed a sanctuary when the mundane matters of the day begin to melt my brain. As such, you will NOT inform anyone else of this." His voice had taken on a much more dangerous tone, "The werewolf watches me so closely I would hate to have him get hurt trying to prevent me from my studies."

The threat was serious and Harry knew it. The other did not seem to require an acknowledgement, apparently confident that fondness for his old professor would be sufficient to ensure his mouth stayed closed.

"So, why did you want to talk to me, specifically? I don't have all day." Harry was pleasantly surprised that the brisk question came out with force that belied his lack of confidence in the exchange. In truth he didn't ever remember feeling so at a disadvantage in a simple conversation. The corners of Riddles mouth drew up in amusement.

"These books are very interesting. There are books on advanced spells and potions, books on magical theory, and books on Wizarding history. The more modern ones just so happen to mention the rather dramatically named 'Boy-Who-Lived' - one Harry Potter – the boy that resulted in the downfall of Lord Voldemort."

Ice fell into Harry's stomach with an almost audible thud. This is what he had been afraid of, he was a proven threat, and one that Riddle would undoubtedly want to rid himself of.

"Tell me, how exactly did you as a one year old infant defeat my older self?" He was leaning forward, eyes alight with curiosity as he considered Harry whose mouth was becoming increasingly dry.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. Surprisingly, the Dark Lord seemed almost pleased by this answer.

"I thought not," he mused almost too quietly for Harry to hear. A moment later he had sprung forwards from the chair pacing in front of Harry and speaking directly to him once more.

"There's nothing special about you," He laughed shortly at the offended look that Harry had been unable to prevent flashing across his features. "Oh I wouldn't say there's nothing interesting about you Potter, but you have no powerful hidden talents, correct?"

Harry nodded his agreement, trying not to feel a small satisfaction that he had been deemed interesting.

"So presumably the unfortunate resulting downfall of a powerful wizard was due to something other than a mere infant," Riddle seemed almost relieved by this conclusion as if he was embarrassed that any version of himself could be defeated by a simple baby.

Harry felt wrong-footed as he watched the older boy, it was very difficult to imagine that anyone who had grown into Voldemort would have the ability to feel the range of emotion that Riddle displayed. The young man himself seemed to feel that he had given away too much for he sat down, face once again unreadable and intense curiosity wiped away.

"Why would he have gone after you in the first place? I need to know everything you know about what happened that night."

His voice had taken on that dangerous, commanding tone and he paused looking at Harry expectantly. It was obvious that he was accustomed to being obeyed. Apparently he could see the reluctance in Harry's expression.

"Who thought I would ever miss those idiot sycophantic students! You know, when I left Hogwarts there was not a single idiot that would hesitate to do whatever I asked?" The question was obviously for effect as he did not pause to allow Harry to reply, "Swallow your pride, think it over and use that Gryffindor brain of yours for once. Presumably you don't actually remember that night so any knowledge you have must have been given to you by others. Is it not reasonable to assume that I too could access that same information given time? It would be quicker for you to just tell me and might yield some answers for both of us!"

"Both of us?" Harry asked cautiously, was Riddle volunteering to give up some information of his own?

"Of course!" The other exclaimed, frustration evident in both voice and posture, "Have you never wondered why you were targeted in the first place? Never wondered why your parents had to die?"

That caught Harry's attention. Of course he had asked himself the question, indeed spent many sleepless nights wondering if there had been a reason that he had had to grow up with people that hated him while so many others got loving families. The young Dark Lord saw it in his face, a triumphant smirk curling the edges of his lips.

"So, start at the beginning," He sat on the edge of the nearest chair and looked intently at Harry.

It took longer than he would have thought to get through the story of what had happened that terrible night. Riddle was a surprisingly good audience; barely ever interrupting he did so only when he spotted a hole in the story, a piece of information that Harry had failed to include in his account. By the time they had finished it was late and people would be missing them before long, when Harry mentioned this Riddle started as if surprised.

"You're right, we should go. I need some time to think about this anyway, meet me back here tomorrow evening after dinner and we can discuss it further. Remember, don't tell anyone about the room though, if you ruin the work I put into the distraction charms on the door I will be most displeased." It was off putting how quickly the boy's voice could change from cordially polite to threatening. As Harry walked towards the door his senses prickled at the idea his back was exposed to his oldest enemy. He steeled himself and left the room, making a silent point of not looking back.

He mulled over the conversation as he walked through the corridors towards the bedroom that he and Ron shared. Not far away from his destination, he was brought out of his reverie by the sound of the redhead's voice coming from a room down the hall. It was the bedroom that Ginny and Hermione were sharing and, as he came closer, he realised the door was ajar and paused for a second before entering.

"Come on, nobody's seen either of them for hours, you really think that's a coincidence? What if he's done something to him? We need to go and look."

Realising that he was probably the 'him' that Ron was referring to, Harry walked into the room. Ron, Hermione and Ginny all looked up quickly as he entered, worried looks turning into relief before they could hide it.

"Where have you been," Ron asked at the same time Hermione said, "We've been worried about you."

Harry paused a second and sat down. His first instinct was to tell them everything about the conversation he'd had, but something stopped him. Riddle's threat had been real and the last thing he wanted to do was to put his friends in danger, they had already been in enough trouble because of him over the last few years.

"Just wanted some time alone," he lied.

Ron seemed to relax but it was clear that both girls were sceptical.

"It's this hearing, I'm just worried about what will happen if they… if they expel me." He shuddered as he said it and it seemed to placate them, sympathy winning out. It wasn't really a lie, he was terrified of what would happen if he couldn't go back to Hogwarts.

"They can't expel you Harry," Ginny reassured him with a smile.

"Yeah I've been doing loads of research," Hermione added, "The law clearly states that underage wizards are allowed to use magic to save themselves if their life is in danger."

Harry felt a wave of guilt at their encouraging smiles, he really hated lying to them, but he just couldn't risk Riddle finding out if he told them the truth. He had seen what the boy's older self was capable of up close and the thought of him harming his friends was unbearable. Ginny saw that he was uncomfortable and tactfully changed the subject. Harry was grateful to her, even if she did think that it was the thought of his impending hearing that was bothering him. He pushed it from his mind and allowed himself to be drawn into the conversation, relaxing properly for the first time all day.

Tom Riddle still sat in the library, avoiding the time he would have to go back upstairs and play his part. The others were irritating in the extreme, most of the adults in the house were unaware of his origins and had been wrapped up in his charm as easily as his old teachers in Hogwarts had been. It was nothing compared to the network he had had before but it was something, and it would give him connections to expand over time. Potter was different though. Most of the people he had met in the present time were taken in by the act despite their better judgement. They might sense something was different about him but only saw the brilliant orphan, assumed his past had scarred him. Those were the worst, they looked at him with pity and he had to smile and accept it when all he wanted to do was curse them. Harry Potter looked at him and saw Tom Riddle as he really was, knew exactly what he was capable of.

There had been some few over the years, his inner circle at Hogwarts, that had had that same honour and each one of them had looked at him with fear. They had jumped to attend his every need out of fear that they might otherwise incur his wrath and, while they had their uses, mindless servitude was not particularly interesting. That's what set Potter apart. Of all those that had known him as Lord Voldemort, he was the only one that had been capable of meeting his eyes without showing a single drop of fear. Harry pushed back, challenged him and had actually forced him to compromise during their conversation, limited as he was by the circumstances.

Tom leaned back in his chair and smiled. Harry Potter was interesting in a way that nobody else had been in a long time. With a bit of careful shaping he might even become a worthy opponent. He seemed strong, Tom certainly hoped that the boy would prove to live up to his reputation. The stronger they were, the tougher they were to break, and the more fun it would be to push. But they always broke in the end. Always.


	6. Hogwarts

The days rushed past quicker than Harry could keep up with them. He had met with Riddle once more since their conversation, however the other had quickly concluded there was nothing more they could do without further information and effectively dismissed him. Were it anyone else, Harry would have felt slighted, but being in the presence of Tom Riddle was so stressful that in truth he just felt relief. They very rarely saw the young dark lord. He spent his days with Remus under Dumbledore's orders and never ate meals with the group, preferring to take food to his room. Harry himself spent the days under the watchful eye of Mrs Weasley as they fought their way through the rooms of the house, slowly making it habitable.

The little free time Mrs Weasley allowed them was spent with his friends or Sirius. Harry could tell that his Godfather didn't like being back in the 'prison of his youth,' as he called it, but he made an effort to smile for the rest of them. The Ministry Hearing came almost without Harry realising. It went smoothly as Hermione had promised and Mrs Weasley made sure the celebrations were the best they could possibly be. Riddle of course avoided the celebrations, although he was not above giving him a look of disgust as Harry stumbled past him on the landing on his way to bed, drunk from the fire whisky Sirius had sneaked in for them (much to Mrs Weasley's disapproval).

After that the days seemed to accelerate even more. Their Hogwarts letters came late, meaning that the trip to Diagon Alley was rushed even more than usual. As the date for their departure loomed ever closer, Sirius' mood took a considerable drop. He was almost as withdrawn as Riddle and laughed so infrequently Harry started to really worry. He made a point of reassuring the man that he would keep in constant contact while at Hogwarts, but aside from that he didn't really know what else to do. Harry hoped that Remus at least might be able to stay with him when they were gone, he didn't think his godfather would cope very well alone in this dark house with his memories. Harry had never hated Wormtail more.

Time marched on regardless of Harry's misgivings and before long they had left Grimmauld Place behind. It felt a bit different this year, walking into the great hall. He had always felt like Hogwarts was more of a home than Privet Drive and the threat of expulsion had only made him appreciate the magnificent castle even more. As he took his seat at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by friends he felt a sense of peace; a luxury he had not had since before the ill-fated Triwizard Tournament had begun last year.

The Gryffindor table was rowdy as ever as they waited for the first years to make their way across the lake with Hagrid. Harry looked over at the Slytherin table to see if he could see the house's heir, but Tom was nowhere to be seen. Draco Malfoy, however, was pointedly glaring daggers across the hall, Harry smiled sweetly at him and was rewarded as the pale face turned away darkly. The happy chatter that filled the air died sharply as Professor McGonagall swept into the hall carrying the short stool that held the aging sorting hat. She was followed by a group of trembling children that looked around at the room and it's occupants with obvious awe.

"I swear they get smaller each year!" Ron hissed from Harry's right.

Once it stood in the customary place at the head of the hall, the hat stretched and opened its wide brim to sing. The song was different to the ones that Harry had heard before; instead of the customary house descriptions the focus was on inter-house unity. Harry though it was probably aware of exactly who would be walking the castle corridors this year, after all living in Dumbledore's office must have some serious advantages. Once it had finished, the hall clapped loudly and the sorting began with the call of "Aradon, Lewis."

"If that old hat expects me to go be best mates with the Slytherins it's madder than I thought!" Ron exclaimed as the last new student was sorted and chatter reclaimed the room.

"Really Ron that's what you took from that? Did you not hear the warning?" Hermione admonished him.

"All I heard was my stomach growling," Harry interjected, "besides, I think it's a bit late for me and Malfoy to be 'best friends'." He exaggerated the air quotes.

"Yeah, you're not exactly popular with the Slytherins." Ron grinned at him. Hermione huffed but couldn't conceal the smile that tilted her lips.

Talk died down as the Headmaster stood up.

"I know you will all be anxious to eat," His voice smothered the sound of anyone still talking, "however I beg your patience for just a little longer. This year we have another new student to sort, one who will be entering not the first year but the sixth. He is joining us due to the tragic deaths of his parents at the hands of the same death eater group that killed our own Mr Diggory. Indeed a number of you will recognise Mr Riddle as having returned with Mr Potter at the end of the Triwizard Tournament last year." Hushed whispers raced through the house tables and Dumbledore had to raise his hands to quiet them. "I have been as transparent as possible with you all following the events of last year, as such I would request that no student bothers either Mr Potter or Mr Riddle for details that may be distressing."

Before he could say anything else, the large double doors at the end of the hall snapped open faster than should be possible for such mammoth pieces of wood. Professor McGonagall who had obviously been making her way to retrieve Tom for the sorting found herself having to jump back as the heavy wood swung past the end of her nose, creating a loud bang that drew everyone's attention to the now open space they had previously obscured.

Tom strode forwards into the central aisle. The students around him gawped and Harry had to smother a laugh, the young dark lord certainly had a flair for drama. He walked slower than was strictly necessary, allowing all the students to get a good look as he approached the sorting hat, not breaking pace as he jumped onto the dais and picked the old hat up off of the stool. Even from halfway down the Gryffindor table Harry could see the mild distaste that coloured Tom's lips as he swung to face the silent crowd and placed the hat upon his head, electing to stand rather than sit upon the low stool.

The hall seemed to hold its breath as the hat deliberated. It didn't take long to reach a decision, and no-one that knew Tom was surprised when the hat opened its brim to call out "Slytherin." There was a moment of silence interrupted quickly as the green and silver end of the hall clapped politely to welcome their newest addition. Tom sat himself with the other fifth years, next to a boy named Theodore Nott if Harry wasn't mistaken. The others seemed to treat the young dark lord with a wariness, they obviously didn't like the intrusion into their ordered little world.

Hermione elbowed him in the side and Harry was shocked to find that Dumbledore had resumed speaking and was now outlining the usual forbidden activities.

"Why are you staring at him?" she hissed, "I'd have thought you of all people would be glad to get away from him after the holidays!"

Harry shrugged but Ron came to his rescue. "As much as I hate the git you've got to admit it's interesting. Riddle in the snake pit. Bet he's not used to not being in charge, maybe they'll take him down a peg or two." He snickered cruelly.

"Be serious Ron," Hermione admonished. "He might have kept to himself over the summer, but that's only because Dumbledore had him watched. He's really dangerous, I can't believe Dumbledore could let him anywhere near children. He could kill someone!"

"Wouldn't mind if he killed Malfoy," Ron scoffed, "Actually might see if I can bribe him to do it." Harry followed his gaze to the blonde boy, staring with undisguised dislike at the young dark lord seated just down the table from him.

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said, trying to keep his voice soothing for Hermione's sake, "And Dumbledore isn't going to let anyone get hurt. He had Riddle effectively locked up during the summer under the eyes of half the order, he isn't going to let him run around and do what he wants."

Food appeared in front of them as Dumbledore finished his speech, all three were too hungry to avoid it and lapsed into silence as they filled their plates. Although Hermione still looked worried even she threw herself into the meal enthusiastically. Any remaining tension soon evaporated as they caught up with their friends, laughing and joking as if Voldemort himself were not sat across the room.

* * *

Dinner conversation at the Slytherin table had been tense. Tom had deliberately sat among those that would be in his own dormitory, as those would have to be the first to fall under his command. They spoke to him in polite voices as they asked all the generic questions one usually asks a new acquaintance, they would reserve the real interrogation for later. Tom himself responded with the same polite aloofness, appearing unconcerned as they tried to figure out where he would fit in the strict Slytherin hierarchy. The first time round it had taken a couple of years to work his way to the top. Now he was older and more powerful he could be much more direct. The whole house would be doing his bidding soon enough, they just didn't know it yet.

As they walked down to the dungeons after dinner, the other fifth years kept close to him. It was clear they wouldn't allow them to slip away until they had their questions answered. The common room was almost exactly the same as it had been when Tom had last been in it fifty years ago. The layout was identical, indeed it almost seemed as if the two couches around the table by the fire might be the exact same ones as he remembered sitting in as if it were only a couple of months ago. He didn't allow the others a chance to corner him, striding to the seat that had customarily been his. Absently he noted that it wasn't the same couch, there was a subtle difference in the way the leather gave underneath him. The others watched him, the two human mountains hanging back slightly and looking to the Malfoy boy for their cue. He really did look startlingly like his grandfather, Tom would have to be careful not to call him Abraxas when he wasn't concentrating.

The boy also seemed to have the same innate arrogance as he wasted no time before confronting him.

"Excuse me, I think you'll find that to be my seat."

Tom leaned back languidly, pausing before he drawled, "Malfoy, wasn't it? I apologise but I rather think it's called a 'common room' for a reason. This is as much mine as yours." He smiled, unmoving. The blonde either did not catch his challenge or chose to ignore it.

"Look, Tom." He gave a sly smile, "You need to be aware that there's a certain way we do things here in Slytherin. It might be different to where you grew up, but if I were you I'd learn quickly. It will make your stay here much more… comfortable." The threat was so obvious the boy might as well be a Gryffindor! As he spoke the two trolls he commanded moved closer, squaring up and grinning at him. Slytherin subtlety had really gone seriously downhill in the last 50 years. Tom sighed, he would have to be more direct.

"You're welcome to join me," he gestured to the seat opposite, "after all we are to be roommates."

The other Slytherins observed quietly. Tom understood much more about this house than the other boy could ever claim to. The power balance of Slytherin house was a delicate thing, it shifted more subtly than most could fathom and the man that played it best always ruled the house of Snakes. It was time to begin the game, he would show them all how an expert played.


	7. Dumbledore's Request

**Hey guys! Just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone who is reading, following and reviewing this story. I'm sorry I can't commit to faster updates at the moment but everyone reading really helps keep my motivation to continue. Thanks!**

 **Adarynn**

* * *

The first few weeks back at Hogwarts weren't quite the positive experience that Harry had been hoping for. After the emotional roller-coaster that had been last year, he had been hoping for a bit of peace but the entire school had quickly returned to its old hobby of 'staring and whispering about Harry Potter.' It was obvious that the majority of students wanted to know exactly what had happened the night Cedric had died but as yet nobody, not even the Gryffindors, had been brave enough to ask him outright. The whispering that went on behind his back was only fuelled by the Ministry of Magic's dogged determination to ignore everything that had happened last summer. Harry had recognised several Death Eaters that night in the graveyard but Fudge had refused to believe him, stating firmly that the threat Voldemort's followers had once presented was over. He had attacked Dumbledore's reputation when the headmaster had attempted to back up Harry's word. Fudge had brushed it off, telling the papers that the headmaster was a fool to trust a potentially unstable youth. After Harry's sanity had been attacked in Rita Skeeter's articles last year, it wasn't a big leap for Fudge to say Harry had somehow convinced Dumbledore his delusions were real.

Lessons themselves were not particularly easy either. The teachers seemed determined to drum the importance of the OWLS through their skulls by force if necessary, and had already raised their workload to double what it had been last year. Between the challenging classes and mountain of homework Harry and Ron were both already spending an inordinate amount of their free time on just trying to keep up. The single exception to this was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, a pink toad-like woman named Umbridge who seemed to have an unnatural aversion to the actual practice of magical spells.

The only person aside from Hermione who seemed to be coping with the increased workload was Tom Riddle. Harry had taken to covertly watching him in the classes they shared together, it was maddening to see the way the teachers reacted to him. The 'perfect student' act was flawless, Riddle showed his intelligence and aptitude for each subject in just the right way; within a week most of the staff were singing his praises, calling him a brilliant, humble young man who was an asset to the school. It infuriated Harry how easily everyone else seemed to swallow the lies, he just didn't understand how the teachers especially didn't see through the act to the psychopath underneath.

Outside of classes Riddle was usually accompanied by the usual posse of 5th year Slytherins, most of whom seemed to quickly be developing a wary respect for the boy. The only exception to this was Malfoy, who seemed to spend most of his time sulking that Tom was outshining him academically. Ha, Harry wished he could hear what his father said about that! A couple of times Riddle had tried to approach Harry on his own. He seemed to have an uncanny sense for when Harry was alone, which was mildly concerning to say the least. Harry had so far not allowed himself to be caught, always pretending not to have seen the other, or making quick excuses. It was a good job Harry had been forced to think on his feet a lot in recent years, the skill was certainly paying off now. It wasn't that Harry didn't want to find out why Voldemort had targeted his family, he really did, it was just that he wasn't sure that Tom having the information was a good thing. What if it turned out that he had actually had a good reason for trying to kill him 16 years ago, and decided to make a fresh attempt? Either way his time was quickly running out to decide what to do about it; Riddle was becoming visibly agitated by his avoidance, and Harry really didn't want to find out what he would do if he got angry.

As it turned out, the choice was taken away from him with the delivery of a small folded piece of parchment delivered by Colin Creevey. Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting in the common room one evening trying to get through Snape's latest essay when it arrived, a short note written in elegant slanted handwriting;

 _Harry,_

 _Please present yourself in my office when convenient, I am particularly fond of lemon drops._

 _Albus Dumbledore_

"Who's it from?" Ron asked absently, his quill scratching his temple as he tried to work out a particularly difficult formula.

"Dumbledore," Harry said slowly, looking up. That caught Ron's attention.

"Really, what does he want?"

"Wants me to go to his office, now I think." The other two looked at him expectantly but he didn't move. He was still a bit angry with the headmaster for making sure he had no information about what had happened to Voldemort over the summer.

"We'll wait here for you." Hermione smiled reassuringly.

"It's alright," Harry stood and gathered his things together, "Don't know how long I'll be there." He knew his voice was coming out slightly oddly and the others seemed to pick up on it.

"You ok mate?" Ron asked quietly.

"Fine," Harry threw him the best smile he could before taking his bag to the dorm.

It seemed like only a second later he was striding through the secret passageway down to the third floor, quickly coming face to face with the aged gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office.

"Lemon drops." He announced, voice sharp. In response the gargoyle just gave him a derisive look and nimbly leapt to the side revealing the spiral staircase behind him. At the top Harry paused, taking a deep breath to control his temper before he turned the door handle and entered.

"Ah, Harry, thank you for coming at such short notice. Please, sit down." The headmaster smiled at him, indicating one of the plush chairs across the desk. The office was much as Harry remembered it from his previous visits; the silvery instruments that decorated the table puffed smoke and whirred, the many portraits of previous headmasters looked down at him blinking owlishly, and Fawkes (the phoenix that had saved Harry's life in his second year) still sat on his perch.

While the magnificent bird looked to be in the prime of his current life cycle, Dumbledore himself looked tired, more so than Harry had ever seen him. Despite this his blue eyes still twinkled behind his half-moon glasses and he paused only to offer Harry a lemon drop before getting to business.

"I apologise for pulling you away from your friends, but there is something rather urgent I must discuss with you." Harry waited quietly for him to continue, "As you are aware we are in something of a delicate situation here. Mr Riddle is a problem, a problem without a clear solution."

"I'm sorry sir, but why didn't you just hand him over to the aurors last summer." Harry did his best to prevent his voice from becoming accusatory.

Dumbledore didn't seem to mind the interruption, "You may have noticed the Minister for Magic is doing his best to close his eyes to what has happened. Cornelius simply cannot face the idea that Voldemort could have returned in any form, nor that his death eaters could pose a threat. I'm afraid to say that he has taken the position that I have orchestrated all this in an attempt to oust him from leadership."

"But that's absurd!" Harry exclaimed.

"Indeed." The Headmaster sighed. "However the fact remains that Cornelius believes in this delusion. He has even gone so far as to send his Senior Undersecretary to spy on me."

"Umbridge." Harry breathed, "She's crazy, sir. She expects us to pass our OWLs without ever even performing the spells!"

" _Professor_ Umbridge, as we must now refer to her, is certainly… unconventional in her methods. I believe she acts under the ministers instruction; Cornelius Fudge has deluded himself to the point of viewing the students of Hogwarts as an army, poised at my command. He doesn't want you all trained to defeat him."

"WHAT?" Harry was incredulous.

"As ridiculous as it is I believe we have more important matters to discuss, if you will allow me? There is a very real danger that Voldemort will recover his memories. If he does, well, I don't need to explain to you the extent of the disaster that would be. Throughout the year, I would like you to attend certain 'lessons' here with me. Together we will take a journey through the eyes of Lord Voldemort in the hope of discovering a 'contingency plan' if you will. I wish to discover the likelihood of Voldemort regaining his memories and, hopefully, confirm an idea I have about a possible way to win this war if the worst should happen."

"Sir," Harry paused, wondering how best to voice Hermione's concern, "If it's a possibility that he would get his memory back, isn't it dangerous to have him at Hogwarts?"

Dumbledore seemed to sag slightly, as if the weight of his responsibility were a burden pushing him down. "What would you have me do Harry? Kill the boy?"

Harry didn't reply so the headmaster continued, "I fear at this point, even were we willing to sink to his level, it would not be possible. I believe Voldemort placed powerful safeguards against his own death using the darkest of magic. It would be dangerous to try until we are fully aware of the possible repercussions. The best alternative is to have him where I can see him, and where better than Hogwarts?" Dumbledore's serious eyes speared Harry over the tops of his lenses. "I assure you Harry I would not have brought him to this place unless I was sure the students were protected."

Harry felt himself blush as shame swept through him. "I know that, I'm sorry sir."

"I have one other task for you, Harry. If Voldemort does regain his memories, we need to know about it soon as possible. I want you to watch him. You're one of only seven people in this school who know Tom Riddle's true identity, if you spot anything to suggest he remembers the last 50 years I want you to come to me immediately."

"You want me to spy on him?" Harry asked, how on earth could he do that without Riddle noticing?

"To put it bluntly, yes." Dumbledore replied gravely, "This is very important Harry, will you do this for me?"

"Yes sir." Despite his reservations Harry answered without hesitation.

"Thank you Harry." He glanced at the old grandfather clock on the office wall. "Ah, I fear I have kept you too long m'boy, you'll have to hurry to reach Gryffindor tower before curfew. I shall send another note once we are ready to begin our lessons, until then watch Riddle."

Harry recognised the dismissal, "Yes sir," He replied as he got up to leave the office, thoughts whirling around his head faster than a flock of owls.

He was halfway back through the secret passageway when he heard footsteps coming from the other direction. He hadn't hurried with so much to think about, and it was almost certainly after curfew by now. He froze, he was too far along the passage to turn back before whoever it was saw him. He whirled to the side quietly as possible and hid behind a tapestry a little further along the wall, wishing futilely for his invisibility cloak still locked away tight in his trunk. The steps were about to round the curve in the passageway. If whoever it was happened to be lighting their way then they would surely see the bulge in the tapestry that gave him away. If he was lucky and they weren't, then they might just not notice it.

The steps walked slowly towards his hiding spot. Harry could hear their owner breathing slowly, in time to the measured clicks of their heels on the stone floor. They reached level with him, and then passed. Harry let out a silent breath of relief. Not silent enough - the steps stopped. He heard a thud and stood still as possible, not daring even to breathe. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, sure it would give him away. All he could hope for was that it was just another student out of bed on the other side of the tapestry, not a teacher or a prefect.

The fabric was ripped violently to the side, revealing a wand an inch from Harry's nose, tip illuminated so brightly it almost blinded him after the darkness behind the thick tapestry. It's owner stepped back, and Harry heard a cold laugh that sent ice to the pit of his stomach.

"Potter, you've been avoiding me."


	8. Technically Kidnapped

Harry gave him a blinding smile, "Hi!" He grinned at the other, who was visibly taken aback by his enthusiasm.

"Hi… what are you doing behind a tapestry?" Riddle asked slowly, looking at him as if he were a particularly difficult puzzle. Harry couldn't help but feel just a bit proud at leaving the other so wrong-footed. He thought about the question for a moment, wondering how best to answer. His grin slipped, "I – uh - thought you were a teacher, didn't really fancy detention this early on in the year."

"Hmm," the other looked like he didn't believe him, still studying him with those penetrating eyes that made Harry feel transparent, as if Riddle could see right through his bravado.

"Anyway I better get back to the tower before I run into an actual teacher, it's getting late." Harry said hurriedly spinning around. He got two steps before the body-bind curse hit him and he fell flat on his face. He felt hot pain explode in his nose as it hit the concrete, unable to move his arms to break his fall. Judging by the flow of blood creeping up around the edges of his view it was almost certainly broken.

Tom sighed behind him and when he spoke his voice was colder than the flagstones Harry now lay on. "You've been ignoring me, Harry. I do not tolerate people ignoring me."

Harry felt ice plummeting down to his stomach as the other stepped slowly towards him. He almost felt the air move as a wand was pointed at his back. He couldn't help it as his muscles tense, anticipating pain and bracing for the impact.

"Stupefy!" Everything went dark.

…

…

…

"Ennervate." Harry was quick to wake up. Surprised to find himself able to move again he jumped up, looking at his surroundings. He was in a large room that he didn't recognise. One wall was lined with an ornate floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled to bursting with books. The far wall held alcoves in which stood what looked strangely like shop dummies. The centre of the room appeared to be empty, creating a large clear space. The only furniture not pushed back to the walls was a ring of comfortable sofas and a few low tables arranged around a large fireplace situated in the middle of the wall closest to Harry. Sat in one of the seats was Riddle, observing him as if he were some sort of interesting bug. Harry tried to push back the images of Dudley frying ants with a magnifying glass with that exact same expression on his fat face.

"You stunned me!" Harry accused him, trying to subtly search the room for a method of escape. The smooth walls had no windows, and as far as Harry could see, no door. This was bad.

"Yes," the young Dark Lord replied with a vaguely amused smile, "I wouldn't have had to if you didn't keep avoiding me – sit."

Harry cautiously approached the sofa he had indicated. Every part of him was screaming for him to run.

"Really Harry, if I wanted to harm you do you really think I would extend this hospitality? Sit." The instruction was stronger this time, more insistent. Harry complied. Putting his hand in his pocket he was reassured to find his wand still there, perhaps Riddle really didn't mean to hurt him? Then again maybe he was just confident he could beat Harry just as easily with his wand as without. If so he was probably right. A shiver ran down his back.

Riddle sat in his customary relaxed and elegant pose, "I must admit I was quite surprised to find myself ignored. I thought we made an agreement back in your godfather's house, I thought we were research partners." He practically purred, smile that of a big cat stalking its prey.

Harry laughed. "Well you didn't exactly seem to need my input once you had the information you wanted from me."

"Are you that eager for my attention, Harry?" The words were playful but there was a hard undertone seeping through, reinforced by the ice shards in his eyes. Harry knew that he was seeing the real Tom Riddle, the boy that had grown to kill indiscriminately. He silently wished he could run; Gryffindor bravery be damned. Maybe the bookcase hid the exit? He was fast and agile as a result of running from Dudley's gang for so many years, but Riddle was taller and if he was wrong about the door things could get very dangerous.

"You wish," Harry scoffed, maybe it was safer not to run or fight. Maybe a more Slytherin approach was needed. As much as Harry hated to associate himself with the snakes, there was a reason the hat had considered placing him with them in his first year. Indeed, it would make it easier to complete Dumbledore's task if Riddle and he were to be in regular contact. "Anyway, if you actually are interested in working with me then there are probably more important things we could be discussing."

Riddle sensed his unease, smirking, "Does the idea make you uncomfortable?" His voice was mocking, practically dripping with sweetness.

"No," Harry snapped back too fast. He took a deep breath, "Can you really blame me? You have a history of trying to murder me!"

The other laughed, "Relax, 'saviour', where's all that bravery the books talk about?" Harry bristled, but Riddle continued before he could send a retort, "You are actually correct though, there are definitely more interesting things for us to discuss."

He turned to pull a bag of what appeared to be books from the side of his chair, leaning to pull three heavy looking tomes from the top. He strode across to Harry, dumping them in his arms rather unceremoniously. "Here, I need you to study these. I have several more to study myself." He indicated the bag behind him, "Look for anything that might suggest a reason my previous self might have targeted your family, I think a week should be sufficient for a thorough study. Meet me back here after curfew seven days from now." He paused, giving Harry the bug stare again although his tone was casual. "See that's all I wanted. Do you think next time you can forego the avoiding me so I don't have to kidnap you again?"

He seemed to take Harry's silence as consent as, throwing a blinding smile over his shoulder, the other turned to swing his bag over his shoulder and headed for the blank stretch of wall opposite the bookcases. Just before he reached the wall Riddle waved his wand and a large door seemed to melt its way out of the masonry in front of him. A second later the young dark lord was gone and Harry was left alone with his thoughts and the books he had been given.

Still slightly in shock after being stunned and effectively kidnapped by someone that had professed the desire to kill him numerous times, Harry slumped over the sofa in no hurry to move. Idly, he turned three heavy tomes around, studying the titles. His heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach. All three books appeared to be on Dark Magic;

 _Darke Secrets_

 _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_

 _Magical Manipulations_

These were the kind of books that lived in the restricted section, the ones that would bite your appendages off if you tried to open them without the proper countercurses. The kind of books that only teachers were allowed to take out, though Harry couldn't imagine why any of them (except perhaps Snape) would want to.

He couldn't read these books: dark magic was forbidden, it was evil. How could the boy-who-lived lower himself to studying the magic that had made him an orphan in the first place, no matter how curious he might be?

Harry hid the books at the bottom of the bag, loathe to touch them for any longer, as if they might taint him with their malice. Riddle must be laughing; he must have done this deliberately knowing full well how Harry would react.

He pulled himself to his feet and across the large room to the door (that had thankfully not disappeared again after the young dark lord had exited). He found himself, to his immense surprise, on the seventh floor corridor. He recognised it by the portrait opposite, a particularly garish piece depicting some idiot wizard that had thought it might be a good idea to teach trolls ballet. He had never noticed this room before.

He turned around only to see the door fade behind him, and the wall become smooth once more. Harry pulled his wand out, waving it in the same general motion as Riddle had when he had exited the strange room, but the wall just stared impassively back at him, immovable as he had always believed it to be. Confused, Harry returned to the common room, so lost in thought that he did not even stop to listen to the Fat Lady berate him for being out so late and cutting her off mid-sentence when he gave her the password.

Ron and Hermione were still sat at the same table when he entered, but he ignored them waving him over. He was uncomfortably aware of the books at the bottom of his bag – there was no way he could let his two best friends see them. What would they say if they thought he was studying the Dark Arts? Instead he hurried up to the (luckily empty) dormitory and frantically pulled everything out of his trunk, stashing the books underneath quickly as if they might bite him. He would have to find some way to get rid of them, maybe he could just give them back to Riddle, embarrassing as it would be to see the other smirk. Rubbing his eyes, Harry allowed himself to flop onto his four poster bed. Ron and Hermione would be waiting for news of his meeting with Dumbledore, but maybe it could wait until the morning… He really was quite tired.

Harry opened his eyes to the Slytherin common room. He recognised it from his infiltration with Ron in second year. He was sat on one of the leather sofas next to the fire, poised as if relaxed, although he could feel the tension thrumming throughout his taut muscles. The rest of the common room was deserted, the silence deafening. He was waiting. His head shot up as the entrance opened, admitting Dennis Chapman, a sixth year.

"Ah, Chapman, I trust it is done?" Harry drawled, inwardly freezing as he heard the voice coming out of his mouth. It was Riddle's. This could not be happening.

"It is." The burly young man grinned at him. He felt a flash of anger shoot through his body, the boy was insolent.

"It is, what?" Harry could hear the malice dripping from his tongue and preyed the other Slytherin would pick up on it as well.

Apparently he did, "I…It is, my Lord. Sorry, my Lord." Tom scoffed. Apparently even the idiot Slytherins of this day and age had a decent sense of self preservation.

"Better," He smiled and flicked his wand towards the present day boy who gasped with sudden pain as a crack sounded echoing in the corners of the room. "Do not forget it again." Tom ordered.

"Yes.. my Lord," Chapman gasped through gritted teeth, holding his arm at an odd angle.

Harry woke up in a cold sweat.

He lay staring up at the ceiling of his bed as his breathing gradually calmed down. Of course he still had the link, the world must really hate him. It surprised him that he was still getting the visions of Voldemort, he didn't know why, after all Riddle was still the same person albeit younger. He felt the bizarre urge to run down to the dungeons to help the Slytherin sixth year (Chapman wasn't it?), but knew it was useless. He hadn't seen Voldemort use a single verbal spell. The other was so much more advanced than him, even at this age, it was almost laughable. If Voldemort managed to find a way to regain his memories Harry would have to fight him head on. If things remained as they were he would be slaughtered without question. He would have to train, and train hard. He fell into a troubled sleep wondering exactly what it was Dennis Chapman had done for Tom Riddle.


	9. Knowledge Is Power

Harry got part of his answer the next day. He still didn't understand what had happened, but he did realize who it had happened to. Since first year, Harry had always been aware of, if not attentive to, the movements of Draco Malfoy. So, it didn't take very Harry long to notice when he didn't see the ferret at all the next day. Or the next. Or the one after that. When he voiced his concern to Ron and Hermione at breakfast on the third day, Ron simply laughed at him.

"Come on mate, it's Malfoy! What do you care if he's skipped a couple of days of school?"

Harry had avoided telling his friends about the vision he had had thus far. He knew they'd worry, but he didn't really feel like he had any further choice in the matter. Unfortunately as it turned out he'd rather underestimated the vehemence of their reaction.

"What do you mean you still have a connection with him?" Ron practically shouted into the great hall, horror evident on his face.

"Shhhhh, keep your voice down!" Harry panicked, feeling immensely lucky his best friend's shriek had mostly been covered by the general hubbub of the other students.

"Well I suppose it makes sense," Hermione mused, "He might be much younger but he's still You-Know-Who. Harry this could be really dangerous, are you really sure he doesn't know its happening?" Harry could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she analysed the situation.

"Dumbledore said he didn't think Voldemort knew about the visions last year, I think I'd know if that changed. It's not an issue really, I just really don't want to keep having flashes of the Slytherin common room while I sleep" Harry replied, putting his head on his arms. He never felt rested after having visions.

"I'll have a look in the library, see if I can find anything that might stop the visions." Hermione promised, "Meanwhile maybe you should go and see Dumbledore again, he might be able to do something."

"I don't want to bother him, it's not exactly any new development is it? He already knows I have visions." Harry sighed. "Besides, I'll be seeing him soon for our first private lesson, I'll talk to him about it then."

Hermione gave him a weak smile, "If you're sure. It might be useful anyway, at least you'll probably be able to see if he suddenly remembers the last 50 years."

"Yeah I suppose. Although judging by whatever he's done to Malfoy I don't think the visions of Riddle as he is now are going to be much more pleasant to watch than they were when he was older. As much as I hate the ferret I hope he hasn't killed him or something."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ron chided him through a mouthful of toast, "You really think Dumbledore is just going to start letting him murder students. I bet Malfoy's just got a cold and is being a drama queen. The git couldn't possibly attend lessons with a mild sniffle. What you saw was probably a coincidence."

Harry was marginally pacified by this line of thought. Ron was probably right. He really didn't know what Riddle and Chapman had been talking about, it was probably just a coincidence and Malfoy had just gotten ill at the wrong time.

The next day however, it became clear that Harry had been right the first time. The moment Malfoy stepped into the Great Hall for breakfast Harry was aware of it. The boy looked terrible. He walked without the swagger that had followed him for as long as Harry had known him, and he was even paler than usual. He walked with the aid of a crutch, limping on his right foot. It didn't take long for his two best friends to realise what he was staring at.

"Whoa, what happened to him?" Ron's voice held no concern. Indeed he sounded positively gleeful at the Malfoy heir's injury. The Slytherin had sat down with the other fifth years. Harry couldn't help but notice that he walked straight past his usual seat that would put him in the centre of attention, instead sitting at the edge of the fifth year group. Riddle had taken his usual place.

"We have to tell the headmaster!" Hermione exclaimed, coming to the exact same conclusion as Harry.

"He already knows," Ron was gazing up at the head table, where Dumbledore was calmly watching the Slytherin side of the hall, "certainly looks like he's keeping a sharp eye on Riddle anyway."

"I hope so," Hermione looked worried again, "This is exactly what I was afraid of, it's too dangerous having him here."

"Relax Hermione," Ron said, returning to his breakfast, "It doesn't look like he's done anything permanent, and Malfoy definitely needed someone to take him down a peg or two."

Hermione shot him a reproving look for his callousness, but didn't seem to have an argument for that. It was as they were leaving the hall that Harry finally managed to get a close up look at the ferret. He trailed along behind the Slytherin crew, Pansy Parkinson doting on him as usual.

"Hey Malfoy," Dean Thomas shouted from behind them, "Finally pick on someone too big to beat?"

The flowing crowd on their way to lessons seemed to pause, everyone jostling for a better view of the confrontation.

"You better wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you, mudblood." Malfoy hissed angrily. Harry's eyes found Riddle, staring at him from the other side of the crowd the Dark Lord gave him an innocent smile before winking deliberately. Such was the intensity of the gaze that Harry completely missed what passed between Malfoy and Dean, only looking away a few seconds later when an irritable Professor McGonagall came to move the crowd now blocking the way into the entrance hall. Later, Hermione pointed out the rather significant fact that Crabbe and Goyle had not immediately moved to Malfoy's side to provide their usual brand of ham-fisted back up. Riddle was definitely changing things in Slytherin, and that was worrying.

Over the next few days, Harry tried to put all Slytherins (new and old) out of his mind as the teachers increased their workload yet again. If it wasn't for Hermione there was no way that Harry would have been able to keep up; preoccupied as he had been since Lord Voldemort returned to Hogwarts. As a result, the time of his agreed meeting with the young man seemed to creep up almost without him noticing.

He left his explanation to Ron and Hermione brief, presenting the meeting as an opportunity to spy on Riddle as per Dumbledore's orders. He hated leaving them so worried, but they promised to cover for him when the time came for him to sneak out of the portrait hole. Usually he would have taken his invisibility cloak, but the room wasn't far away and he couldn't risk Riddle stunning him again and stealing it.

When he reached the portrait, the opposite wall was as blank as ever. There was no sign of Riddle. The next five minutes involved Harry trying everything he could possibly think of to get the door to that strange room to appear for him. He tried to copy Riddles wand pattern from a week ago, tried the _alohomora_ spell, even tried to simply push the wall aside. In the end he stepped back to think, pacing as he did so. He'd been so preoccupied this week he had totally forgotten to ask Ron and Hermione if they knew anything about the mysterious room.

Frustrated he looked at the blank stretch of wall he was pacing beside only to find it no longer empty. The door had reappeared seemingly of its own volition! He was just about to enter when leisurely steps sounded in the corridor to his left. He whirled around just as Riddle turned the corner, striding towards him.

"You're late," Harry bit out as the other approached.

"A Dark Lord is never late," he grinned innocently at Harry, "He arrives precisely when he means to."

He didn't pause, going straight to the door and holding it open for Harry after he had entered. They walked over to the seats around the fireplace but while the Slytherin took his customary relaxed position by the fire, Harry remained standing.

"You look bothered, oh great and powerful saviour," Riddle taunted him, "Pray tell me what's wrong."

Harry's temper had been simmering just under boiling point for the entire week. "You need to take them back." His teeth were clenched as he spoke.

Riddle simply raised an eyebrow in question so Harry took the three books he had been given out of his bag and thrust them towards the young dark lord.

"What's wrong with them?" Riddle portrayed innocent confusion to perfection. No wonder everyone had been so taken in by the model student act.

"They're about dark magic!" Harry hissed, he wanted nothing more than to punch the git and wipe away the innocence they both knew didn't belong on his face.

Riddle betrayed a flicker of genuine confusion, dropping his mask to study the other once again. "I should have thought that would be obvious. The events we are investigating involved very dark magic, light books would be of no help."

Harry laughed slightly hysterically; did he really not understand what was wrong with asking him to study books like this? "I can't… dark magic is evil!" He all but shouted.

"Ah, morality; society's favourite exercise in futility." Riddle said almost absently. He was still staring at Harry and it was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. He defiantly stared back, though. No way would he give the Slytherin the satisfaction of winning even this small battle.

"Sit down, Potter. Goodness are all Gryffindors this pathetically emotional?"

"No just the ones that aren't murderous psychopaths." Harry shot back but sat down all the same.

Riddle smirked, "Picked up on that, did you? There's something different about you, though. Your emotions radiate so strongly I can almost feel them myself. It's fascinating."

Harry didn't really know what to say to that, so settled for meeting the x-ray stare. It was like Riddle was trying to pick him apart simply with the weight of his gaze.

"Will you listen to what I have to say and try to be objective?" The Slytherin asked suddenly.

"What?" Harry was taken aback.

"Excuse me. Speak properly or not at all." The correction seemed to be automatic, "There's no point us attempting this partnership if you're going to start shouting every time I do something that bends your rather inflated sense of pointless morality."

Harry felt like he had to physically shove his anger down before he spoke. It was imperative he at least pretend to play along. It would make his task from Dumbledore so much easier and might even give him a way to pull Voldemort down if he ever needed to.

"Fine," he replied as evenly as he could.

"Good. Let's start with the books shall we?" The Slytherin heir had snapped into a much more business-like demeanour, seeming content to put his study of Harry aside for now.

"Here," He threw one of the books back to the Gryffindor, "Open it."

Harry did so cautiously. "See," Riddle continued soothingly, "It's just a book. Parchment and binding and ink. These are things you use every day, not dangerous things."

Harry looked down, "It's not the actual book that bothers me. It's what's inside it he muttered."

"Knowledge is power, Potter, and it is how you use it that really matters. There is no true good and evil, simply power-"

"-and those too weak to seek it." Harry finished quietly, looking up sharply to meet the calculating gaze as soon as he realized what he had done.

"Indeed, where did you hear that?"

"From you, actually." Harry said cautiously, there was something predatory in that look he didn't like at all.

"Now that's interesting," Riddle smiled, "See, I was rather under the impression you were a baby when we last met."

Harry fought not to give his panic away. Shit. Of course Riddle wouldn't remember the events of Harry's first year, and the last thing he needed was to give the other yet another reason to want him dead.

"We met, very briefly, when I was eleven. It's a long story."

"I have time." Riddle pressed.

"Not now. I think you were telling me about something important?" Harry said firmly. There was a moment when the Slytherin heir looked like he might force it out of him (for there was no doubt in Harry's mind that he could) but surprisingly he didn't. A moment later he had returned to the previous conversation.

"Yes. The point I was trying to make is that the information in these books is not inherently bad. It won't taint your innocence or whatever it is that you Gryffindors worry about. It's what you intend to do with the information that really matters."

He paused to allow Harry to process his words. As much as he didn't want to he could see the point the Slytherin heir was trying to make. If he didn't use the information for what it was originally intended for then it couldn't be harmful, could it? If he could use what they discovered to somehow bring down Voldemort, then it could even be a good thing. The aforementioned dark wizard was apparently able to read his expression well enough to guess he was at least amenable to the idea.

"So, you'll read them?"

Harry gave a sharp nod, still not really sure he was doing the right thing.

Later that night, after all his dorm-mates had gone to sleep Harry pulled the first of the books out of his bag and sat on the bed, curtains closed. He ran his hands over the cover, feeling out the ridges in the ancient leather. Could he really do this? Even if he didn't intend to use anything he learned, he couldn't deny that Dumbledore would undoubtedly disapprove, as would his friends for that matter. But if he wanted to know why his parents had to die, why he had to grow up with a family that hated him; then this was something he had to do. Taking a deep breath Harry opened the book and started reading.


	10. Potions

Harry didn't get much sleep over the next few days. His nights were mostly taken up by the books that Riddle had given him and, though he was loathe to admit it, he was finding them more interesting than he had expected. The initial feeling of revulsion had mostly faded and he now handled the books almost as if they were simple school books, but despite this the fact remained that Harry was not really the type of person that enjoyed reading. The books were old and dealt with sometimes obscure topics and the effort of scouring the pages left him feeling fatigued. At least the young dark lord had been sensible enough to give Harry books that looked like they were for those unfamiliar with the dark arts rather than advanced texts. One of them Harry found particularly interesting, to the point that he had soon pushed the other two aside for later. It detailed the specifics of the differences between dark magic and light magic, and raised many questions that he would have to ask Riddle next time they met. Ideally he would have approached Hermione, but the subject matter in this case made it rather impossible without revealing his study of forbidden books.

The late night research also gave him an easy excuse to avoid most of the nightmares that had been plaguing him since the night of the third task. It gave him something to focus on and stay awake. What sleep he was getting was plagued by the memories of Cedric's death and the fight with the death eaters, and as a result Harry hadn't felt rested in a long, long time. His schoolwork was suffering even more as he was constantly exhausted and Hermione was obviously starting to become concerned, even at one point going so far as to suggest he visit the hospital wing!

Harry suspected this was the reason that he woke up late one Thursday morning, thrown from the clutches of the graveyard. He lay in bed panting and soaked in sweat, trying to keep quiet before realising that there was no one else in the dorm. A quick tempus charm told him that breakfast was about to end and the first class of the day, double potions, was about to begin. He dressed himself in a blind panic, cursing Ron for not waking him on his way down to breakfast. When he was finally washed and decent, Harry hurtled through the castle at top speed, jumping down the staircases as they moved and other students looked on in shock. He was still ten minutes late by the time he finally walked into the dungeon classroom.

"Ah, Mr Potter, how nice of you to finally join us," Snape drawled, "ten points from Gryffindor for tardiness."

Harry kept his head down and tried not to snap back, Knowing Snape would delight in taking even more points off him.

"Sit," Snape snapped at him, "quick. You'll have to sit at the front as Mr Longbottom has finally become so incompetent that I've had to have Miss Granger babysit him for particularly dangerous potions. "

The seat at the back where Harry would normally sit next to Ron and Hermione was taken by Neville, who shrugged apologetically at Harry as he shuffled past. Personally Harry didn't see why he couldn't just have taken Neville's usual seat next to Dean in the row ahead, but Snape was indicating an empty seat at the very front of the class on the Slytherin side. Harry really hated the potions master sometimes, he felt his temper light in his stomach. Riddle smirked as Harry dropped into the seat next to him.

"As I was trying to say before Mr Potter so rudely interrupted," Snape continued, "The potion we are making today contains one of the most dangerous ingredients you are allowed to use at this level of education. You should all have completed the homework on the proper use and handling of blasting powder so I expect no accidents. Instructions are on the board," he waved his wand and spidery handwriting appeared on the chalkboard behind him, "BEGIN!"

Harry got out his cauldron and lit the fire under it automatically.

"Did you even read the instructions?" An amused voice asked from his left.

"Not yet, why?" Harry asked absently.

"Read the first line. Aloud." Riddle insisted.

Harry looked at the blackboard and read slowly, "Add two quarts of Esther solution and five pinches of powdered bicorn horn to a cold cauldron… Ah."

The young dark lord was studying him again. "What's wrong with you? You might hardly be able to keep up with my levels of genius but I'm pretty sure you can read. Well I certainly hope so or those books were a complete waste of time."

"I can read," Harry snapped, extinguishing the fire and following the instructions.

"Eloquent as well I see."

"Shut up," Harry mustered, too tired to think of anything witty and concentrating hard on not slicing his hand as he cut the asphodel root. He was forced to stop as Riddle's hand grabbed his wrist. The fingers were cold and held just a little too tightly to be friendly. It felt like he was going to have bruises.

"Either your intelligence has seriously regressed in the space of a few days or there is something wrong with you, which is it?"

"There is nothing wrong with me," Harry was starting to struggle to control his temper. "Now will you please allow me to continue chopping this root?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea."

"And why is that?" Harry asked, voice raising higher than he intended and causing Snape to shoot a look at them from across the room.

"Five points from Gryffindor for disruption." The professor's voice drifted across the smirking Slytherins.

"Because the instructions say to crush them not slice them." Riddle replied deadpan not taking his eyes away from Harry's.

Harry looked at the board as the other released his arm, irritated to see that the git was correct as always. They glanced at each other, and Harry saw the tug of amusement lifting the side of Riddles lips. He pushed down the bizarre urge to laugh.

"Anything else I'm doing wrong?" Harry asked, although strangely he couldn't bring himself to inject any proper bite into the words.

"Yes actually, several things…"

As it turned out Lord Voldemort had many, many issues with the way Harry Potter made potions. Throughout the lesson he interjected several times with corrections and suggestions with varying degrees of patience. Despite being thoroughly annoyed by the other, Harry couldn't deny that the interventions had a considerable effect on the quality of his potion, keeping it much closer to the books description. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen Snape so surprised as when he looked into Harry's cauldron at the end of the lesson.

"Congratulations Mr Riddle, I don't think I've ever seen Mr Potter produce a potion that wasn't a complete was of his time and dubious effort before."

"I'm always happy to help any of my fellow students professor." Riddle replied innocently. Snape looked at them both suspiciously before addressing Harry. "It seems Mr Riddle is a good influence on you, you'll sit here from now on." He instructed before quickly moving on.

"See, Potter," Riddle drawled grinning at him, "I'm a good influence."

"Could've fooled me." Harry said yawning for what seemed like the twentieth time since that morning.

Riddle gave him an odd look. "So why exactly is it you seem to be getting so little sleep that a breath of soft wind could knock you down?"

"Who said anything about not sleeping?" Harry tried to walk past him and exit the classroom but the other moved to block his way and just raised an eyebrow at the pathetic deflection attempt.

"I can hardly read those books at any other time can I? Harry hissed at him, looking around him at the retreating students to ensure no-one could hear their conversation.

"A reasonable answer. However doesn't explain why you are still so tired considering the reason you gave for being late to this very class was oversleeping. Try again lion."

Harry stayed silent and looked down.

"That embarrassing eh? A girl perhaps?" Harry's head whipped up, temper exploding from his eyes.

"Although my guess would be nightmares." Harry's retort died on his lips, telling Riddle everything he needed to know.

"Nightmares. Of what I wonder?" Harry tried to move again but was blocked once more. The classroom had emptied of everyone but them. Harry felt a chill go through him, it was bizzare how quickly the other could change his disposition from teasing to downright scary. Harry found himself wishing that anyone, even Malfoy would come back in and take Riddle's attention. The other was so intense Harry felt as if he were being burned by his very gaze.

"You said you had met my older self before. Tell me, what was I like? Was I the stuff of your nightmares Harry Potter?"

"I don't think it would be a good idea for me to tell you," Harry refused, judging if he could jump a table and run for it.

Riddle looked about to press the issue when Harry's prayers were answered and Snape swept back in to the classroom from his office.

"Potter, Riddle, what are you still doing in here?"

"Sorry sir," Riddle's mask immediately slipped back across his face. "I was just giving Harry a couple of pointers on the homework you set us."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Do it somewhere else, I have classes to prepare for."

"Yes of course, sorry Professor." Harry hurried out ahead of the other, slightly worried the Slytherin would try to keep him in the dungeons to continue his interrogation. Thankfully Ron and Hermione almost bumped into him as they rounded a corner heading back towards the classroom.

"There you are mate," Ron grinned at him, "We were just coming to find you! Colin asked me to give you this, reckon it's from Dumbledore. What were you doing back there?"

"Tell you later," Harry said darkly, still hurrying to get back to the great hall before Riddle caught up with him. He took the thick parchment from Ron's hand and slipped the note into his pocket.

"Sorry about the seating," Ron said sheepishly, "We tried to save your chair but-"

"Hey, why didn't you wake me this morning?" Harry demanded, stopping his march short as they finally reached the safety of the entrance hall.

Ron glanced sideways, "Hermione said not to."

Harry looked to his other best friend accusingly.

"Well you haven't been sleeping lately – don't give me that look you know it as well as I do." Her eyes were hard, " _WE_ thought it best to leave you be, your health is more important than potions."

Both Harry and Ron stared at her incredulously.

"Who are you and what have you done with our best friend?" Ron asked seemingly caught between being shocked and impressed. "I didn't think you think you thought anything was more important than schoolwork!"

"Well, it is," Hermione began to blush. "Honestly Harry I'm about an inch from dragging you to the hospital wing whether you want to go or not, do you know how tired and stressed you look at the moment? Not to mention the drop in your grades!"

Harry looked down. He couldn't really argue with her, and he was exceptionally touched by how concerned his friends seemed to be. He wished desperately he could tell them about the dark magic books. He wished he could talk the whole situation out with them, he had never had to deal with anything without the support of Ron and Hermione in his previous years in Hogwarts.

"Tell you what Hermione, if I don't feel better in a week or so, I'll go to Madame Pomfrey and ask for a Pepper Up potion or something."

The bright smile she gave him in reply made him feel even more guilty.


End file.
